(This is part of a 365 project during my 70th year where I write and illustrate a blog on each day’s gift.)

I had never heard of the 100 Happy Days Foundation, a foundation that organized a global flashmob, a worldwide bubble parade on this day. This is the first year that Baltimore has participated, thanks to Mary England, Baltimore's local street artist and quirky, perky personality.

On this day, groups in more than 31 cities assembled and made a little magic in Africa, Asia, Europe and the U.S. In offbeat Hampden today, people of all ages allowed their inner child to shine...and, despite the heat, there were lots of smiles and strange outfits.

I have always been drawn to bubbles and was the organizer of the bubble activity at my daughter's elementary school's fall fest every year. I searched for the best recipe and aimed to create large bubbles that floated gracefully above the heads of children. It was especially delightful when a child was able to twirl with the bubble wand and create a rainbow tunnel around her dancing body.

It doesn't matter that the fragile spheres are ephemeral. What does matter is their beauty and the continuing magic they create in us if we allow. I love how the soapy surface tension interacts with light and colors in the environment and then constantly shifts and changes. I used to watch children at the fair chase huge bubbles and jump to pop them and then giggle in delight. For the children, I don't think it was a desire to destroy as much as it was a desire to connect with the magic and amazement at how a touch of their finger created huge sprinkles that rained on them.

It is another kind of magic that diverse people all around the globe can find a common connection in something so ethereal.

My gift today is a bubble.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~You can find links to my other posts on this project here:

(This is part of a 365 project during my 70th years where I write and illustrate a blog on each day’s gift.)

Stop the clock. Hang out with friends. Fill a night with silliness.

I took my computer to the shop this morning with what is probably a bad hard drive. Now, that's something that causes stress today but something that had no place in yesterday (as in "long ago"). What can I do? I can sit around and worry but that might waste some precious time. I might hang out with some friends and laugh a lot. Now that sounds like a good idea. And that is what I did.

Stacy, Rayned, Ace (a poodle) new Couch Surfer friend Charles, David, Misty (a cat) and I shared a night with a good home cooked meal by David, interesting conversation and lots of wine. Conversation ranged from good books to good poop and lots of things in between. We set up some photos with Ace pretending to play Scrabble while Misty walked away in disdain. Everyone pitched in to create dog-appropriate Scrabble arrangements which led to words like kittyqat, mongrel, bitch, poodle and paws.
Being a project/creation-driven person, sometimes I forget just to sit around, produce nothing and have plain fun. Tonight it did not matter that I took fuzzy photos with my new long pole selfie stick and remote shutter release. Tonight it did not matter if I finished this blog. What did matter was that I spent time with friends and that we laughed together. This is good for the soul.

May 29, 2015

(This is part of a 365 project
during my 70th years where I write and illustrate a blog on each
day’s gift.)

It’s
official—honeysuckle is blooming. No matter that it is an invasive weed—that
fact does not detract from its beautiful bloom and sweet scent.

I
grew up in Baltimore City, surrounded by concrete and very small green patches.
I played in the back alley with other neighborhood children, games such as Mother May I, Simon Says, hopscotch and jump rope. Around this time of the year, a
certain scent would cause us to stop in the middle of play, an aroma carrying change
and promise. We knew summer was beckoning when we smelled the honeysuckle. One
of our neighbors had a vine growing at the end of her chain link fenced yard, a
vine with the funnel-shaped flowers and sweet smell. I remember when a playmate,
a girl from West Virginia who was familiar with wild things, introduced me to
the taste.

“You
pick it like this,” she instructed me. I plucked the flower with the little
green bud, the calyx, which was close to the stem. “Pinch here and pull this string
and suck it,” my young teacher continued. She demonstrated, already on her
second taste. I pinched the calyx and pulled the stamen out through the bottom.
Then I stuck out my tongue and tasted the nectar. It was such a tiny bit but a
little bit of sweet goes a long way.

Another
honeysuckle memory wafts back from later in life when I was around 30. I had a motorcycle
that carried sensuous connections. I loved how the air temperature changed from
warm at the top of hills to chilly down in the dips. I loved the feel of warm wind
rushing past. But even more, I savored the fragrances that permeated the air—especially
the honeysuckle scent along country roads. Sometimes small things bring great pleasure and that is enough.

May 28, 2015

(This is part of a 365 project
during my 70th years where I write and illustrate a blog on each
day’s gift.)

We picked up a young Couch Surfer at the
train station today. He is Indonesian but has lived in Germany for ten or more
years. He wanted to see Annapolis and so we took him there where we visited the
State House and the harbor area. I told him about Alex Haley’s novel Roots
and showed him the statue at the harbor and the quotes from his novel. Later, David
cooked a good dinner as usual and then I decided to fill the bird feeders.
While I prefer to merely fill the feeders from the birdseed bag, David insists
on first filling empty soda liter bottles and then filling the feeders from
these bottles. It makes no sense at all to me but his weird way of doing things
led me to a new discovery.

I playfully struck one of the empty soda
bottles on the table and it resonated with a lovely sound. Curious, I tried
another and another. Although the plastic bottles appeared the same to the eye,
they produced different sounds to the ear. A fourth one made a most unpleasant
sound so I held onto the three and determined they produced these notes: B-D-F.

I began to play three-note tunes with these
bottles. B-F-D sounded like, “Where are you?” B-B-B-F-D sounded like, “Where
the hell are you?” Our Couch Surfer, Charles, and I took turns playing
three-note original songs to the accompaniment of giggles. I think I’m going to
call my new style repurposed music.

After a day of knee pain, I was glad when something
so simple could spark creativity and smiles. That’s what I choose to remember
about today.

May 27, 2015

(This is part of a 365 project
during my 70th years where I write and illustrate a blog on each day’s
gift.)

I’ve been eating blueberries ever since I
can remember. I’ve always savored the taste and have learned that the bigger
ones are the sweetest. Sometimes, I peel the skin and let its succulence linger
in my mouth before swallowing. And I have always been careful of the fruit’s
juices because my mother used to warn me how blueberry stains will not come out
of clothing.

More than 40 years ago on a Dolly Sods backpacking
trip that went awry, I remember spending the night in an inadequate tent during
an early October storm. We were miserable, cold and hungry. On the way back to
the van, we found some wild blueberry bushes and crawled on our hands and knees
greedily picking and stuffing the berries into our mouths. Trinka, my rain-soaked
German Shepherd, obviously loved these berries too as she wolfed them down. The
wild blueberries stand out in my memory as a bright spot in an uncomfortable
experience when life had broken down into its lowest common denominator of
basic human needs. How wonderful these blueberries tasted!

I thought I knew blueberries until this
morning when I was eating some for breakfast. Looking down on the top of one
berry, it suddenly dawned on me that the stem area has an elegant geometry shaped
like a six-pointed star, a hexagon or hexagram with two interlocking
equilateral triangles (without the guiding lines)—a symbol that has been used
in Judaism, Hinduism, Islam, Buddhism, Jainism, Mormonism, Christianity.

I never noticed this until today. How many times have I focused on
only one sense and pushed the others in the background? Tomorrow I should
capture the blueberry smell before eating and pay attention to how the skin and
inside feel. Hmmm…what does a blueberry sound like? How is it that a hexagon
like that on the top of a blueberry can appeal to such diverse groups? Maybe
the blueberry should become a symbol of religious unity.

May 26, 2015

(This is part
of a 365 project during my 70th year where I write and illustrate a blog on
each day's gift.)

Pendant and hidden hugs made by Andrea Gingerich

Every day brings a gift to me but some days gift becomes a plural.
Today I received a call from an old friend from 1970. We met as teachers and each of us married
and had children. For over 40 years, through visits, phone calls and messages, we have remained connected as close friends. She is definitely a valued gift.

And then there were free tickets to a nighttime
Orioles game where I spent time with an ardent fan—my husband. He had a chance
to connect with an old friend sitting next to him. The Orioles didn’t win but
the experience was a winner.

The third gift wins as a focus today—a package with a
belated Mother’s Day card (“Thank you for being my surrogate mom when I’ve
needed it the most.”), a hand-made pendant pressed with a piece of nature,
and hidden hugs—from a young friend
who has lately experienced many downs in life’s rhythm of hills and valleys.
Photography brought us together but her artistry reaches out beyond photography toward new growth and connections.

In my special package today were hidden hugs, repurposed circles cut from old greeting cards with inspirational
quotes hand written on one side—“The Earth has music for those who listen.”
Some are humorous—“I meant to behave, but there were too many other options!”
The idea is meant to spark mental health awareness and smiles. People find them
in unexpected places such as in Camden Yards last night, hanging on the back of
a restroom door or peeking out from under the mustard. I can imagine the curiosity
and smiles as people find them and I too smile because I was part of the
process. In a way, this is a different kind of graffiti

May 25, 2015

(This is part
of a 365 project during my 70th year where I write and illustrate a blog on
each day's gift.)

A gallon of Dry Loc, a ¾ paint roller and a cheap,
disposable brush—with these, I painted our new retaining wall of 50 plus blocks,
preparation before painting it brown to match the color of the bottom of the
house. After it is finished, I am thinking of either adding art or a metal frog
to the wall and planting a couple of green plants in the ground near it.

Looking at the record photo I took of today’s work, I am
reminded of the time years ago when I had a vision for the area at the base of
this wall that is the entrance to our downstairs. At that time, I had to gather
and carry away piles of leaves that had settled there before I leveled the
ground. Then I bought sand to lay as a base before I laid the patio bricks. It
is hard for me to imagine now how I carried the sand and the bricks from the
car to the back of the house and spent a day or so finalizing my vision. And
then there was the treehouse I built single-handedly…with a porch, a poem and a
unicorn window.

Tonight I am tired and my back is sore from the mere
painting I accomplished earlier. When I think of what I used to be able to do
and what I can accomplish now, I have two choices when it comes to my attitude:
(1) I can complain about what I used to be able to do but can no longer do; (2)
I can be thankful what I am able to do today. Of course, this is a no-brainer.
Complaining does not make me feel better but what I can accomplish now does. I think I will forget the art idea and add a ready-made frog to the
wall.